


Golden Leaves

by Sehrezad



Series: In-Between [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, First Age, How Thranduil Got His Scar, Thranduil is a good guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7487181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sehrezad/pseuds/Sehrezad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the First Age. Not standing for the isolation of the Sindars, young Thranduil sets out to the North after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears to help those in need. It's a harsh territory with cold summers and unforgiving winters… but the autumn there is beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the movies and the books.
> 
> And here it is, Thranduil's backstory in my In-Between universe… at least a part of it. You don't have to read the other stories to read this one so go ahead. Enjoy!

 

The days were dark and they were even darker in the North where nature seemed to be in tune with evil.

When he set out of Doriath with the enthusiasms of a young Elf, armed with the certain knowledge that he could make a difference out there, he knew nothing of the world. All he had was heroic tales colored by the passing of years and the sheltered life Doriath provided.

Heading towards North, the harsh reality startled him at first. To imagine that Elves lived under trees slowly losing their green and by untamed waters was baffling. Though the cold didn't bother him as such, it was unpleasant compared to the warm air of his home where everything was alive and bursting with colors.

Colors were duller here in the Mithrim. Spring seemed to be coming alive with cautious hope and the summer was unable to reach its peak, an unpleasant cold always lingered in the air.

Thranduil had spent the last months scouting the area, aiding the fleeing Elves and Men, and getting rid of the filth that had flocked the area ever since the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, over a year ago.

Days were getting shorter and colder with the season, the smell of the autumn leaves filling the dewy air. Nights stretched out into freezing infinity. But the stars shone as brightly as ever.

There was beauty in the North, too, Thranduil had to admit. It's beauty, however, was nothing like that of Doriath.

It was darker. The falling leaves dancing in beautiful shades of brown… almost like gold. The waters running wildly, their colors changing with the weather – deep green when the sun was kissing them and brownish gold when the skies were cast.

It was as if nature were in constant motion – not green and bright but still alive and vibrant with something that was captivatingly new to him.

It was like the Elleth that stole among her people like a visage – always there, always so afar.

It was mesmerizing.

She was mesmerizing.

They'd been camping by her settlement for only a couple of days when he noticed her.

It was her hair that first drew his attention to her. It was a beautiful shade of blonde so unlike that of his people. It wasn't even blonde, it was more like golden… with the rich brownish hue of the leaves that were falling around them. She wore it long, the gently curled end of it dancing merrily against her thighs with every graceful move she'd made.

He would have been content just by watching that dance for the rest of eternity… but then, on a misty morning, he caught her gaze. He was lost forever.

Her eyes sparkled with golden radiance, chasing away the white stars of the night. They were warm, gentle and full of life.

He was in love.

He told himself that the only reason he hadn't sought her out yet was because he and his companions were constantly on the road after Orcs and other fell creatures that terrorized the lands.

Truth was that she seemed so scarily perfect that he was half afraid that he'd find her being only an apparition.

So he kept his distance, watching her from afar, and committing her occasional glances to memory.

And it seemed that all she'd remain was memory.

A scout came back one day at the beginning of winter. There was a fire drake up in the mountains. Everything happened so fast after that. He cautioned his peers, finding little support among his eager comrades, and all too sudden they were facing a really angry dragon.

Except it wasn't angry. It was agitated… it was scared. It was only a child.

It was a nest they had happened upon, Thranduil realized with terror and soon, the wrath of a mother protecting her child came upon them with full force. But it wasn't only them. After decimating their numbers, the beast started down the mountain towards the settlement of the valley with the blind fury of a mother deprived of her child.

It fell upon Thranduil to gather the troops and they rushed after the dragon in panicked haste.

The devastation was great in the wake of the serpent but Thranduil didn't stop until he found himself face to face with the beast.

The last thing he remembered, before the fire consumed his world, were the golden orbs of his beloved whose name he didn't even know.

He wasn't dead.

He didn't realize it, however, for a long time. He was in and out of consciousness… or he was just dreaming, he didn't know. What he knew was that a voice was calling to him. A sweet warm voice that would not let him go… that would always find him in the darkness.

When he woke for the first time, the light was golden. It was warm and welcoming and for a moment, he felt as if everything were all right. His beloved's beautiful gaze was regarding him.

"It is you," he managed to breathe before the pain came and blinding white light burst behind his eyes… then everything was black again.

It was dark when he woke again and, strangely, it felt good simply because it wasn't the infinite darkness that settled on his mind but the natural darkness of the night. For a moment, he waited for the pain to come again and it did. But it wasn't the all-encompassing pain that blinded all his senses. It was sharp, that was true, keeping half his body in its snare but he could breathe through it… he would live.

"You are awake," came a gentle voice in the darkness. "And you are smiling." The voice sounded amused. He recognized that voice from his dreams.

"It is you."

"You seem to recognize me," she observed, coming closer, her features becoming visible in the pale moonlight. His breath caught. "Are you feeling all right? I am afraid you will still be in pain for a while."

"I am quite all right," he croaked not too convincingly. "Please, stay with me for a little while." And she did.

They didn't talk that much that night, the pain being still too great for him to do anything more than lying in the dark, taking solace in her presence.

Mallasseth was her name, he came to learn and she was the one who healed him. It was still a long road to recovery, she told him but he was over the most critical part.

Yes, he thought, he would live. And, hopefully, he would live with her.

Everything seemed bright in the darkness.

When he awoke in the morning, he instantly knew, though, that something was wrong. He didn't notice it in the dark but in the morning light it was hard to miss: his eye-sight was impaired. And when he lifted his hands to touch his eyes, his whole left side protested. And it wasn't only pain. It felt as if he had outgrown his own skin… and it was burning.

He looked down at his left hand in shock. It was marred beyond recognition, the angry read remnants of his once pale skin glaring at him.

Disregarding the pain, he was out of bed in a second looking for a mirror… for any object, really, that would reveal the extent of the damage.

The shock at what he saw made him stumble.

He wanted to cry out but his lungs refused to work and only a strangled gasp escaped his mouth. His eyes… his one eye stung with tears of anger and he still couldn't catch his breath.

He didn't remember anything after that, only the disfigured image of a man remained to haunt him.

There was still light when he came to again.

He wished it were dark.

Something had broken in him the moment he saw his reflection. The man in that cursed mirror wasn't him. It was an aberration... a pitiful and repulsive shadow of himself.

He refused to see any visitors, well-wishers or the folks who only wanted to see the dragon-slayer… and he refused to see her.

That was not true. He refused to let her see him that way so, in turn, he denied himself her sight as well.

But she came nonetheless. In the dark of the night, she visited him, first in the healing tent then in his own where he was hiding from the world. He didn't know why but she came, every night. Taking his wrath with silent patience, never judging. She took every insult, every harsh word that was directed at her but never meant for her. And he hated himself even more for that.

He couldn't recognize himself in anything he did.

His anger and cruel words did not discourage her, though, and at the end of every single night, when his anger took his will to fight and he closed his eyes, he knew that she pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead before leaving.

And slowly, the nights ebbed his anger and only silent desperation remained. Now it was she who did the talking. Most of the time he didn't understand her words as she was speaking the tongue of the Noldor. He didn't mind it, however. It sounded enchanting on her lips and it kindled a light in his soul.

But darkness remained and it was consuming him alive. It was eating at his soul in his waking hours and was tormenting him in his sleep. He dreaded sleep just like he dreaded the hours spent conscious. She was the only bright spot in his life, shining in the darkness with a lively golden light. So when, after the nightmares, he would find himself in her arms with her silently singing, he had neither the strength nor the will to push her away. Those times he surrendered and let his eyes close, hoping for peaceful nothingness.

One night, when he was struggling to comb out the charred ends of his hair, she reached for his comb and stilled his agitated movements, silently offering her help. He was unsure for a moment but finally he let her comb and braid his hair, her gentle movements settling his troubled thoughts.

With the physical barriers slowly collapsing, he found himself opening up to her. But he was guarded. He loved her, he knew that more than ever, but everything seemed so unsure, clouded in darkness. He had lost something in the dragon fire.

And if he himself was not feeling whole, what could he possibly offer to her besides a ruined life and bitter words?

But in the darkness, he was selfish enough to hang onto her and take what she had offered. And that was everything. Because she loved him, too. He could feel it in his own heart. And he needed it like he needed air. He was a coward he knew, not daring to claim her affections or to refuse them.

He was this way torn one night and felt the walls of his tent closing in on him. His glance fell upon his twin swords he had neglected for so long, and with a sudden impulse he grabbed them. With the familiar weight in his hands, he felt braver. With the familiar weight in his hands, he ventured out of his tent.

He stopped for a moment, breathing in the fresh air of the early autumn night. It was cloudy, nor stars, neither moon shining in the sky. All the better, he thought, as he started towards the woods. It seemed it was supper time as only a few people were mingling around so he managed to find a secluded clearing without interruption.

He stopped again, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, before lifting the swords and taking a stance against an imagined enemy. He charged forward at last, his movements slow at first, but gradually his stiff muscles loosened and his movements gained momentum and grace while his attacks became more precise.

By the time he stood off, he was panting with excursion but he felt more fulfilled than he did in a long time.

He twirled his swords for a last time in his hands and was startled when the moon that had come out of hiding from behind the clouds sparkled in their smooth surface. For a moment, he felt nervous for being exposed by the moon light but then something occurred to him and he slowly lifted one of the blades.

And for the first time ever since he glimpsed at his marred features in the healing tent, he looked at his image in his shining blade. And what he saw was he himself. He had never dared to look but in his mind, he always imagined a monster – a disfigured image of his old self bearing the mark of the Evil. A pitiful creature, hiding in the dark ashamed of himself. That was how he imagined himself. That was what he had become.

He had nothing to hide, he realized with a sudden understanding. Certainly not his scars.

Where he was yet standing, the dragon had been felled.

He had faced a dragon and lived to tell the tale.

Where there was loss for so long, he felt pride, and the desperation was taken by self-assurance.

He stood tall once again, his eyes – his good eye – clear and determined.

And it struck him suddenly that the man in the reflection had everything to give to the woman he loved.

He smiled.

And there was an answering smile on the woman's face who had walked up to him.

As on instinct, he wanted to hide, he yearned for the darkness to cover his scars, but he reminded himself that he was more than his scars.

"What had brought you out of your tent?" she asked, stopping in front of him.

"I felt restless," he answered, watching how wonderfully curious was the way the white light of the night was reflected in her warm eyes, silver and gold mingling together. "My mind would not find peace within those walls."

"Did it find it now?"

"Yes," he breathed huskily, closing his eyes. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. His eyes opened again when he felt her cool touch upon his cheek. He felt bare under her searching gaze. "I know I have not done anything that would make me deserving of your affections but I do love you. And now I know that I can love you."

"That was never the question, melleth nín. The question is whether you can accept my love without the fear of not being worthy of it."

"The last couple of months were hard. And I was weak. But I am a better man than the one you have come to know. I will be that man again. I will be worthy of your love."

"You already are, meleth nín," she finally told him in a gentle voice, cupping his good cheek.

Thranduil closed his eye at the confession, pressing her hand into his cheek, then he cried. Silent, grateful tears fell down his cheek. It was so much more than he had dared to hope for… so much more than he deserved.

The next morning, when he stepped into the early morning sun light, he realized that it had been almost a whole year he had spent in isolation. It was puzzling to realize that three seasons had passed with him sulking in darkness. It was autumn again, the fading sun of the summer gave the golden leaves of the forest a shining hue and it warmed his cold skin. He welcomed the feeling like he welcomed the warm embrace of Mallasseth.

It had been so dark for so long. There was so much anger in him, so much pain and anguish.

But he was ready to let all that go. He was ready to live.

He still felt self-conscious among the people as he made his way towards the healing tent but when he reminded himself that he had nothing to be ashamed of, he straightened to his full height and walked with head raised high.

He had still a long way to go, he thought as the door of the healing tent flipped closed behind him and, once again he felt relatively isolated... and relieved. His hands were slightly shaking with the sole effort of being in public but when his sight caught Mallasseth in the daylight, he was sure that the sight itself had been worth every pain.

She smiled at him affectionately and walked up to him without heed of the others. He was mesmerized by the look in her golden eyes that was shining with happiness. He swore in that moment that he and his problems would be damned, his only goal in life from that moment on was to protect that light in her eyes.

They spent the next year as a couple betrothed. And with her, Thranduil started to live again.

He started riding out with his men hunting for Morgoth's minions and he quickly found himself leading them.

With time, words got out about a Sindarin group of warriors who were helping those in need, and more and more men started to join them. Unfortunately, the little settlement of Elves at the edges of Morgoth's territory didn't stand a chance so, after guiding them to a safer area, Thranduil's group started a life of wandering, killing dark creatures and protecting those who were fleeing from them.

Slowly he accepted his scars and one day, when he walked among the people bearing his scars proudly and not heeding the looks, Mallasseth took his hand.

"Come with me," she smiled at him as she pulled him away from the others and into the woods.

"Where are we going?" he smiled at her indulgently. He would follow her to the end of the world. He didn't have to, though, because they came to a stop in a sun-lit clearing.

"I have a gift for you," Mallasseth turned to him. "I wanted to give it to you but the time had not been right for it."

"But it is now."

"It is," she nodded, pulling him down into the grass that was scattered with fallen leaves. "But first I want to tell you who I am."

"I know who you are, meleth nín," Thranduil smiled, claiming her lips with a gentle kiss. "You are the woman who claimed my heart."

"And you did mine. But nonetheless, I want you to know my past and from where I come from."

Thranduil straightened and gave her a serious look. "I am listening."

"I am Mallasseth." she told him what he'd already known. Then she continued, "My mother named me Laurëlassië. I was born in Aman to Amarië of the Vanyar and…," here she stopped a little, "Finrod, son of Finarfin of the Noldor." There was an apprehensive silence on her part after that and Thranduil did not immediately understood her sudden uneasiness. But then it downed on him.

"You thought I would shun you because of your blood." He sounded incredulous but Mallasseth seemed to have missed that because she bowed her head. "Mallasseth," he breathed, cupping her cheeks and lifting her head for their eyes to meet. "You could be the daughter of Morgoth himself and I could not deny you." An audible sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes. Thranduil wiped away a wayward tear before pressing his forehead against hers. "You are a part of me, Mallasseth, and nothing will change that."

She smiled through her tears that were truly falling now. "I have always been restless in Aman. There was no place for me there. My mother thought it was because my destiny was with my father who had left to look for his in Beleriand. I came here with the blessing of the Valar."

"Then the Valar had truly blessed me also."

"But it was not my father. It had never been. I met him, Thranduil," she said with a smile that told him about her joy at reuniting with the man. "I lived with him here but I could not follow him South. I could not leave these woods, something kept me here. It was you, my love. I was waiting for you because my destiny is with you."

"Marry me," Thranduil suddenly blurted out, the look in her eyes making him unable to wait any longer. He wanted her in every possible way.

And it turned out so did Mallasseth.

So, in the golden light of the early autumn, he and Mallasseth had wedded.

They laid together afterward long into the night and let the stars bless their union, too.

"I will always treasure your gift," Thranduil said, pulling a delicate hand to his lips, his voice sounding even deeper with warmth and contentment.

"But, my love, that was not the gift I intended to give you," Mallasseth laughed amused, then propped herself up on one elbow and brushed her fingers over his scarred cheek. "Close your eyes," she asked him, running her thumbs up and down on his cheek. When his lids fluttered closed, she started to sing in a low voice. Thranduil was on the verge of falling asleep when a gentle kiss on his forehead woke him.

"Come with me, my love," Mallasseth told him, she herself standing up. Thranduil followed suit and they came to the edge of the stream that ran down from the nearby hill. "Look."

He did and his lips fell apart in surprise. A pair of clear blue eyes was looking back at him. "How?" he asked breathlessly, slowly lifting up a hand to touch his face. The smooth skin under his fingertips felt strange opposed to the uneven surface of scorched tissues.

"This is my gift for you. I will teach you how to mask your scars. But you have to promise me one thing. You will never forget them. You have to remember the fights you fought because that is the only way to remember the things you gained by them."

"I promise," he whispered solemnly, looking back at his reflection.

"Come, my love," Mallasseth gently demanded his attention. "The night is getting colder and we have been away without notice for long. I do not wish to cause undue worry."

Thranduil nodded and stood to gather his clothes as Mallasseth got dressed, too.

He gave her one last lingering kiss before, taking her hand, they walked back to the camp as man and wife while the white stars smiled down at the golden leaves.

**The End**

_Thanks for reading!_


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